By Hector Saldana :
May 7, 2013
: Updated: May 8, 2013 2:36pm

Legendary guitarist Willie 'El Curro' Champion died in August. He had performed at the Omni La Mansion de Rio for almost 40 years.

Photo By Billy Calzada/San Antonio Express-News

Chris Arispe is the hand-picked successor of flamenco guitarist Willie "El Curro" Champion, who died last year. A picture of El Curro is displayed by Arispe. He plays Wednesdays through Saturdays at Las Canarias in La Mansion Del Rio on the River Walk.

The death of flamenco guitarist Willie “El Curro” Champion on Aug. 18, 2012, marked the end of an era on the River Walk.

The legendary San Antonio musician and his wife, dancer Teresa Champion, were mainstays at Fiesta Noche del Rio with Rosita Fernandez when they gained international fame in John Wayne's 1960 epic, “The Alamo.”

El Curro, who toured the world with José Greco, was a beloved figure at La Mansion del Rio in particular, where he performed for nearly 40 years. He was 79 when he died.

Fiesta Noche del Rio, which dates to 1957, launches its weekend series of flamenco music and folkloric dance on Friday at Arneson River Theatre — and “El Curro” lives again thanks to a long-ago protégé.

Corpus Christi flamenco guitarist and dancer Alejandro Herrera III, who was born and raised in San Antonio and performs under the name Alejandro Antonio, steps into the role Champion defined.

“If I close my eyes, and he's playing, it is exactly like Curro,” said Teresa Champion, who taught Herrera flamenco dancing when he was a child beginning in 1972. “He's the only one that plays like Curro. It's like hearing my husband. He deserves it. He's a good boy; he's a good man.”

Herrera is considered a part of the family, she said. The clan plans to catch the show.

“He's almost like a young Curro,” said Champion's daughter, Chayito Champion.

But the return is bittersweet for Herrera, now 48.

“I'm very sad that the reason why I'm playing there is because he's no longer there,” Herrera said. “I'm hoping that with my playing, (audiences) can still sense that he is there. I've been told it's as close as you can get to hearing Curro play. It's very emotional. It's the best way that I can show my love for him and the Champions.”

Herrera, a precocious and talented child who shined at city talent shows, was a folkloric dancer first; he took up the guitar at age 12.

His first lessons were at Alamo Music Center. After that, it was “listen and follow,” keeping his eyes on Champion's fingers flying over the guitar neck playing scales.

“Once I learned the guitar chords, the real work was actually being in the studio and following Curro,” Herrera said.

“They wanted to see how serious I was and could I learn it. I already knew how to dance it. But could I be focused enough and disciplined enough to play what was required for the dancers.”

Champion eventually taught him “the things that the books weren't going to show you.”

The role of the nylon-string guitar is to provide a beat and melodic accompaniment. When strummed hard, the instrument matches the intensity of the dancers' movements.

“He showed me how to do percussion on guitar,” Herrera said. But his knowledge of dance naturally informed his style.

“When I wasn't dancing, I was playing guitar. When I wasn't playing guitar, I was dancing.”

Onstage in the '70s, he danced with the Champions' daughter Elsa. The reason he was paired with her was because they were both short, Herrera said.

“They danced forever,” Teresa Champion said. “But then one day he told me, 'I don't want to dance anymore. I want to play like Curro.'”

Herrera moved to Corpus Christi 16 years ago to get married and start a family; he hadn't seen Willie Champion for years.

He works as an administrative assistant in the office of a bankruptcy trustee.

Herrera rushed to Champion's deathbed last summer but arrived there about 30 minutes too late.

“I couldn't drive fast enough,” said Herrera, who had brought a guitar. “But it would have been very emotional for me to play.”

Teresa Champion, who was married to El Curro just shy of 57 years, described that final moment with both guitarists.

“He came to see him the last day, and he was crying so much. And he was calling, 'Curro. C'mon, Curro. Open your eyes,'” she said. “Alex was holding his hand. 'Get up. I've got the guitar here. We're going to play the guitar.' He was so upset. It was like his father or his grandfather. Alejandro grew up with us. He's a member of the family.”